


All The Ashes

by whiskeyandspite



Category: John Wick (Movies), Polar (2019)
Genre: Crack, Fluff, Gen, M/M, behind the scenes at the continental, silliness
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-12
Updated: 2019-06-12
Packaged: 2020-05-02 07:08:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19194127
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite
Summary: A series of timestamps based on the storyPerfect Ache. It helps if you've read that one, but you can read these standalone if you like.Chapter 1 is based after chapter 5 of Perfect Ache.





	All The Ashes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [southoffebruary](https://archiveofourown.org/users/southoffebruary/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Perfect Ache](https://archiveofourown.org/works/19050040) by [whiskeyandspite](https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskeyandspite/pseuds/whiskeyandspite). 



> Because some ideas were too silly and too funny not to write

Charon made it a habit to know intimately the workings of the hotel. He knew his staff by name, he knew all couriers and delivery men - and women - and he made it a point to know his regulars. It was a professional courtesy, he’d found, that was often appreciated. It certainly brought the New York Contintental more business than it occasionally warranted, during the slower months.

So when a drycleaning docket came across his desk for approval to room charges early in the morning, he was surprised at the request.

“Mr. Vizla isn’t a client of the Seamstress,” he said, passing the docket back to his assistant. “A mistake has been made on the treatment request, be sure to correct it.”

“No mistake, sir,” the young woman replied. “Two suits came through for service this morning, one definitely the Seamstress’ work. Without the treatment the armor will be damaged.”

Charon clicked his tongue, considering, and took the docket back to investigate on his own. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his assistant, it was that he didn’t trust himself to be making mistakes. It wouldn’t do to suddenly fall idle where he had been so good at his work.

The laundry, as all services within the hotel, was behind several keypad controlled doors and guarded 24/7. As Charon made his way towards the desk, he thoroughly checked through his own mental records. He was absolutely certain that while Mr. Vizla was a regular to the Continental, he had never once made the request for an appointment with the Seamstress. Had he done so at another branch, it would have come through the server. Had he outsourced… well, their trusted resellers were also listed in the system.

At the desk, he called forth the request and waited.

“Haven’t gotten to them yet,” the man told him. “Just came in not half an hour ago. Is there a problem?”

“No, Justin, no problem, thank you.”

The suits were left and the young man went about his work leaving Charon to his own. Certainly, the request was properly filled out; all details pertaining to care, listed damages, special considerations. And two suits. One, Charon was absolutely certain, was Duncan Vizla’s, he had a penchant for rarely replacing his suits unless there was no way at all to recover them. This one had seen service, perhaps several months of it. The second, however, was undoubtedly one of John Wick’s.

Curious.

As he returned to his office, Charon considered the situation, weighing up the possibilities of how such a strange mix-up could have happened under his watch.

The two had checked in on the same night, that was undeniable, perhaps half an hour apart, but Mr. Wick had asked for his usual suite on the seventh floor, while Mr. Vizla had had no preference for his stay and had been settled into the fifth. Two floors apart. Surely not even the newest of his staff could have made such a gross miscalculation.

Upon his desk were more approvals, sign-offs, check-ups, suggestions, and complaints.

With a sigh, Charon started with the latter.

Two were requesting room changes due to the change of view brought about by new highrises being built in the city. He supposed there was nothing he could do about those, both guests had not been in New York for well over half a decade. Another complained of a broken heater in their bathroom, which Charon made a note of to tell the cleaning staff for their rounds. And the last was a noise complaint for the fifth floor, pertaining to the hours between two and three in the morning.

Charon considered this one a bit more closely.

It wasn’t, as he’d feared, a complaint regarding violence, however. No rules had been broken. The complainant had simply wanted to inform the concierge that soundproofing should be considered for those wishing to bring company up to their rooms.

Well.

Charon folded the note and pocketed it, alongside the drycleaning slip, before continuing with the rest of the paperwork.

By late morning, he was back to front of house, comfortable in the knowledge that the human parts of the immaculate machine that was The Continental New York were working perfectly. He had had no more errors in requests, the heater had been fixed, two room transfers had been made, with apologies on behalf of the New York Department of Buildings for the inconvenience and ruination of the view, and no more noise complaints.

By lunchtime, Charon found more charges on his desk for approval. The last he’d have to work through before he took his designated ten hours of rest and leave. He found the usual: room service orders, special requests, charges to existing accounts, payment of existing accounts, registrations and check-outs. Within the regular, was another drycleaning slip.

Extra charge for room 5284.

Curiosity coiling again, Charon found himself on his way to the laundry once more - on his own time, now - to confirm.

“Alrighty Mr. Charon sir, let’s have a look.” Jason was Justin’s slightly less well-spoken twin brother. Though there had never been any complaints regarding his thorough work, he got the occasional write-up for his language.

“We’ve got: two suits. One standard, wool-mix, navy blue. Off-white shirt. Treated for the usual bloodstains, smoke damage, skin and hair fibres, sweat and common bodily discharge, all known pathogens, airborne viruses, bacteria and fungi - including anthrax - gunpowder residue, common household and outdoor stains, and scented as per order request.” Jason looked up, smile thin, before flipping the page. “One standard Seamstress-issue kevlar-lined fire-retardant suit, black. White shirt. Treated for all of the aforementioned. Extra charge for the semen stains in the lining and outer belt-loop. Stuff’s a bitch to get out.”

Charon blinked. Jason backtracked.

“Sorry sir, uh, it’s an inconvenience.”

“I see.”

“They’re good to go though, sir, if you wanted to take them up.”

“No, thank you, they can go up with the others. Thank you, Jason.”

“No problemo, Mr. Charon sir. Enjoy your day.”

He supposed he did. He got himself something from the kitchen, enjoyed it on the balcony of his room. He slept, comfortably enough and long enough to be well rested for his next shift. He read some more of his book, which he was unhappy to put down but… no rest for the wicked.

It was very late evening by the time John Wick came to the desk to check out. Charon considered him as he tapped his fingers against the counter. John had been a regular for many years, before Charon had even started working at The Continental, and one who was soft-spoken and polite, considering his career. He’d never made trouble, had never incurred fees for room damages, and made a point to thank Charon when he saw him, which was always welcome.

He looked, now, much better rested than he had when he had checked in the night before. The bags under his eyes had eased to shadows rather than bruises, he held his shoulders straighter, his suit - freshly drycleaned - sat beautifully on him. As Charon finished up the check-out process for him, his eyes lingered on a mark beneath the man’s jaw, blooming reds and purples where the skin had been clear the night before.

“I do hope you had a satisfying stay, Mr. Wick.”

The assassin’s eyes flicked to him a little too quickly, a little too sharply, and narrowed, but John himself said nothing for a long while. He passed over his key, collected his receipt, and finally, after clearing his throat, John mumbled his usual _thank you, Charon_.

“We’ll look forward to seeing you again.”

“Perhaps sooner rather than later,” John replied, raising his arm in farewell before turning to go. 

Charon supposed it hardly mattered that he limped, just slightly, as he walked now. He didn’t think it was an injury that would linger long. In his personal ledger he made a note to check in Mr. Vizla on the seventh floor next time he visited, and to sound proof the walls when next the engineer was in.


End file.
